[Log] Bubbling Vats of Acid
Summary: Celeste, Dominic, Malachi, and Nicodemus hunt down a rogue alchemist in Pathi. Extreme violence ensues.
The villa has taken on the atmosphere of, if not an armed bunker, at least a well-guarded drug lord's house. Considering Dominic's skills, and certain business interests of his cousin, this may not be an unfamiliar or uncomfortable situation. Nevertheless, turtling never accomplished anything, and it's mid-morning when a courier comes to the door.
Celeste issues a sharp whistle from the roof as the courier approaches but does not halt the man. She does vulture over him balanced precariously on the edge of the villa so she might peer down, ready to pounce should he seem something other than what he seems.
You are now quiet on mnv.
The man looks legitimate, and a little nervous at Celeste. "I am here with a message for the Scholarch, from Archon Lunetta."
Nicodemus pulls himself languidly off the couch where he was reclining in a trail of Penglai green silks and golden threads to look in to this business of a courier. He remembers to grab his sword and he walks unhurridly toward the sound of voices.
Malachi looks up from the meticulous examination of a saber's edge at the whistle. He is a few paces behind his brother on the walk towards the voices.
Celeste says, "Well and good. Stay there, keep your hands as they are, and someone will be out to see you shortly. Don't look so nervous, they let me eat the last messenger, so I'm stuffed to the gills."
The courier does not look reassured. He does, though, hold up a rolled scroll of paper.
Nicodemus merely loiters. He does not take the scroll. He clearly has expectations that someone else will take on this weighty task./
Malachi examines the courier from a distance for signs of weapons, fighting ability, or nature as a distraction from something more nefarious, and waits for his cousin to come check the mail.
Dominic is late to the door, having been somewhere deeper in the villa. He looks at the courier with recognition, and is mindful enough of the loving protection of his family and loved ones to not give them a withering look for their paranoia. "Good morning," he says to the man, and takes the scroll. "The Archon is well?" When his question is answered in the affirmative, he gives a dismissive wave and returns inside.
Nicodemus steps aside in a swirl of green silks and follows Dominic within the villa. Clearly no one needs to die. Yet.
Celeste makes a few rounds on the roof before nimbly swinging down in through a window. Restless as she's been and limited in her daily workouts, she's gotten a little more rambuncous in exited and entering the building. To her credit, she's not broken anything in. She saunters towards the door as if to deny any pent up energy and wonders, "Did she write you to inform you that he has spilled his guts?"
Dominic breaks the seal on the scroll, and unrolls it - it is blank. "Hm. Looks like whatever she has to say is important."
Nicodemus glances at the blank scroll, folds his arms over his chest, and grunts.
Malachi waits patiently, about a sword's length behind his brother.
Nicodemus does not stab Malachi. Yet.
Dominic strides purposefully to a small office, looking around his desk for a moment. He finds a small vial and a feather-tipped brush, and uses the latter to spread the contents of the former across the page. A moment or two later, small and neat handwriting appears on the scroll. "Hm," Dominic muses.
Celeste stands by, shifting weight restlessly from one foot to the next as she watches and waits.
"She broke him," Dominic says. "And learned where Epans has made camp."
Nicodemus looks considerably more interested. Almost as if blank documents that can only be transmitted and read to the proper bearer would have some utility in his life.
Malachi looks distantly more interested. Almost as if he is looking forward to slaughtering the hell out of some camp.
Celeste nods once, "Which is more or less what we expected." she hrrrms, "Did she state where?"
Dominic nods, looking over the rest of the document. "Yes. He's holed up in the quarantined laboratories to the east." He doesn't look happy about this fact.
"How far is the trip?" Nicodemus asks.
"Why the quarantine?" Malachi asks.
Dominic says, "An hour or so from here - the laboratories were set outside the city as they were used for rather...experimental alchemical work. Unfortunately the waste products built up, and they're quite unsafe for prolonged exposure these days."
Celeste eyes Dominic, "I suppose if you're already riddled with road taint that might sound like a dandy place to make camp." she observes dryly, "I'm not too worried about me, but what about you and your cousins?"
Nicodemus glances at his brother and then at Celeste and then Dominic. "It sounds... interesting. Interesting is the word I would like to apply to this situation."
Dominic says, "As long as we avoid any of the larger deposits, we should be fine. Thanks to our grandfather."
Malachi says, "Convenient."
Dominic says, "Quite."
Malachi double-checks his more visible weaponry in preparation for an hour's walk followed by violence.
Celeste says, "Is this radiation or something else?"
Nicodemus also double-checks his more visible weaponry in preparation for an hour's walk followed by violence.
Dominic says, "Radiation? Oh, no. Toxic, definitely, but it's mostly a hazard over weeks of exposure. A few hours to find Epans and take care of him shouldn't be too hazardous."
Nicodemus sniffs, once.
Celeste says, "Just making sure it's nothing with sticky particles. I think well of you all but sitting in decontamination for a week is not my idea of a vacation."
Celeste says, "No offense to you fine gents."
Malachi fails to look offended.
Nicodemus says, "I am not offended."
Dominic shrugs. "Limit our exposure, and a good thorough bath when we're done, we'll be fine. Just...try not to fall into anything in a pool or vat."
Malachi says, "We'll try."
Nicodemus says, "I believe I can avoid pools and vats."
Celeste chortles, "So noted. Do we need anything particular to prepare?"
Dominic says, "He'll have minions, of course. Be prepared for violence."
Dominic says this without irony.
Nicodemus glances at Malachi to ensure Malachi is prepared for violence.
Malachi does not triple-check his weaponry, but does give Dominic a look.
Celeste says, "I'd be disappointed otherwise. And you know these two. they might be better behaved but they froth with bloodlust on the inside, I'm sure."
The hike out of the city does take a little longer, nearly two hours, as there is still fighting going on in some of the streets, and the quartet has a mission. Still, the noon sun is still high when they reach the outskirts of the city, and the quarantine zone. The laboratories are low stone buildings with thin wooden roofs, bunkers of a sort. A few men in black robes can be seen on patrol, some of them with eyes over-large for their heads, distorted and strange.
Malachi looks over the defensive setup of the buildings and the patrolling men, a storm pistol settling into one hand. He asks Dominic, "Anything in there volatile with electricity?"
Dominic says, "Almost definitely. Please don't."
Nicodemus keeps one hand on the pommel of his sword at all time as he looks at the buildings and the large-eyed men. He frowns in a way that indicates there are actually more important things than stabbing his brother that requires extreme and uncompromising violence.
Celeste looks to Malachi, "If I didn't know any better I'd swear you weren't up for a challenge." she drawls softly.
Malachi puts away the pistol. "Worth considering efficiency of approach," he says to Celeste.
Dominic slips a glass globe, filled with a black viscous liquid, from his robe. "I can give us cover to approach. Inside, it's likely to get ugly."
Nicodemus glances around one more time and then back at Dominic. "Ugly is acceptable."
Celeste says, "That things not very stealthy and I'd like to have a few bodycounts in our favor before the whole place realizes we're here." She looks to Dominic and murmurs, "Be careful, eh?"
Dominic looks around. "They're guarding three labs. Pick one now, so you don't stab each other in the confusion."
Malachi points with his saber to the lab furthest to the right.
Nicodemus points with his finger to the lab furthers to the left.
Celeste Shrugs and looks to Dominic, nodding, suggesting she will take the left overs of double trouble.
Dominic nods. He takes a second sphere in his other hand, and stands up long enough to hurl them both towards the labs. They smash on the ground with a sharp noise, and cloud of smoke billow up to fill the courtyard, raising a hue and cry but covering things nicely.
Malachi strides briskly through the smoke towards the rightmost building's front door, both swords drawn.
Nicodemus heads through the smoke toward the leftmost building's door, his katana at ready.
Celeste's long legs carry her in distance strides towards her target, blade out but held low and out to the side, one hand left free and her posture slightly ducked.
Nicodemus shoves open the door to the leftmost laboratory, interrupting the workings of two black-clad mages with their giant staring eyes. There is a tinkle of glass as a dropped flask breaks on the floor and then engagement. The two black-clad mages are fast, faster than any human being should, and they are able to do acrobatics no mage should. What breaks out in the leftmost hut is a full, stop motion, wuxia scene complete with wires barely concealed by the camera, a momentary freeze as a black clad mage stops posed in flying crane on the tip of Nicodemus's sword, the insane swirl of green silks, several flips through the air, a clang, and the speedy death of one mage. Then a slow motion face-off with the second one, leaping into the air, hanging there in time, and then breathed fire versus sword and a sword smoothly decapitating the mage. And, as usual, the mages were under 100lbs of pressure.
Malachi strides out of the smoke in front of two guards, one saber immediately burying itself in the neck of the nearest man to the width of the blade. Unexpectedly, the man does not promptly keel over, but grabs at the sword in his neck to contest possession of the blade. Malachi lets go of the saber to concentrate on fending off the attack of the second man, who's approached with inhuman rapidity and six-inch bone spikes where fingers would usually go. The bone does not break under the blows of the saber Malachi has left, fending off attacks as easily as a sword, and faster than any natural swordsman. After a moment of inconclusive lightning-fast attacks and steady parries, the matter is ended with a resounding crack when Malachi's boot hits the man's knee, shattering that bone and distracting the man enough to implant a saber in his right eye. Meanwhile, the first man is bleeding in a slow ooze from dozens of cuts--as well as that gash through half his neck--as the saber he claimed vigorously twists in his hands to contest this unauthorized use. It is only a matter of some bloody hacking further for Malachi to entirely remove the man's head from his neck, and reclaim his sword. He engages in a brief prod of the body with the toe of his boot to make sure that the corpse is not liable to continue fighting while headless before kicking down the door of the laboratory. The smoke swirls dramatically behind him, and follows him inside in a helpfully obscuring fashion, as he enters.
Celeste bursts and remains in killing momentum as her eyes track and note her foes. One foe seems to fade out of sight, the other suddenly swells to such size he almost clears the ceiling, his hide thick and leathery bubbling grotesquely in putrid pustoles. The 'diappearance' of the first doesn't stop Celeste, her blade swinging confidently and red staining where the man falls. There's a disgusted and somewhat girlish grunt as she notes her next opponent but does not hesitate, hamstrining the giant and then with a mighty slash which results in screeching of blade against resistant hide, opens a wound. The creature alchemist flails impotently as she reaches in and begins to tear out flesh, vital organs, and entrails until his life's force flows from his putrid corpse.
The guards dispatched, the three stone-cold killers can gain entrance to the laboratories themselves. Away from the smoke, the sights are a little clearer but no less gruesome. Corrupt and corroded, if the Road didn't come to Pathi through this place, it's certainly had its way since. Workbenches pitted and worn from unspeakable solvents, vats of substances that burble in unpleasant ways. Black-robed alchemists, collecting reagents from these caches of pustulent horror, in each lab. Malachi is unlucky, as his lab is supervised by a Primary Investigator of evil, a man tall and thin as Benedict, but eggshell-bald and with a skin of tarnished and pocked brass. There's no coordination between the labs, but they all have the same response - they attack.
Malachi is approached by a wave of alchemists, and lets it crash around him as harmlessly as water. He moves slowly and steadily, each adjustment of his blades a precisely measured one, and yet there is always a saber in the way of an incoming weapon, the edge of his coat caught by a blade instead of any flesh, an elbow or shoulder thrown into throats and chests as men step unwisely inside an invisible circle of influence around him. One thrown glass flask is caught so lightly along the edge of a saber that it doesn't shatter, spun about in a circle and snapping back into the face of the man who hurled it. It bursts there in a rain of nearly harmless glass and, judging by the immediate shrieking, far less harmless liquid slurming its way into the crevices of the man's face. Malachi tilts and topples the unbalanced men around him into bubbling vats and smoking pools, clearing for himself a tidy path towards the man of brass while to each side the flailing bodies of a half dozen alchemists entirely contaminate those experiments, no doubt irking greatly the one testing theories there.
Nicodemus leans forward as the next wave of minions comes at him, these with their eyes on stalks and their hands curled into hideous claws. Nicodemus is not entirely clear the point of the eyes on stalks but he is willing to go with it. He grabs a flask off a table and throws it at one, where it bursts into yellowish flame, while he comes at the second minion in sword on claws action. The lab echoes with the clanking of combat before Nicodemus finds the proper opening and skewers the thing and pushes it into a vile black bubbling vat in a corner.
Celeste's a flurry of motion, ducking, bobbing weaving, striking dead in a single blow when she can, parrying, disarming, and wounding when she can't. No thought is given to the almost supernatural flexibility or balance, reversing motions smoothly now and again and showing an utter disregard for physical laws-if only the eye is fooled into thinking so. When the press of bodies grows too thick, her body and the bodies of her foes become weapons, an elbow her, flinging one opponent on another's blade. Somehow, a vat is overturned and Celeste springs high, kicking legs up to get hang time enough to latch onto a swinging light fixture and watches the unfortunate souls as they seem to dissolve into black goo as the contents of the vat touches them.
Minions, as is their lot in life, die. They die horribly, gored or amputated or soaked in corrosive goo. Celeste and Nicodemus find themselves soon enough with nothing left to kill; Malachi is not so fortunate. The brass man engages the Captain, hands held like rigid daggers to stab and chop, heedless of the other man's blade.
Malachi hacks at the thin man's forearm, a precise and powerful blow--and the saber ricochets off just as powerfully with a dull clang, the man's brass skin not so much as scratched by the impact. The saber spirals about in a neat recovery, and slides into its sheath at the same time as the unmatched saber on the other side does the same. Without further ado, Malachi tackles the brass man bare-handed. He grapples with slippery metallic limbs, patiently dodging the blunt hand-daggers. Patience and sheer strength slowly gain him ground and grip, until he has the man pinned to the ground, dangers hands held firmly at the back. It is at this point that his lack of foresight in packing restraints becomes apparent.
Nicodemus saunters out of his laboratory covered in goo and becomes vaguely, naggingly interested in the fascinating sounds coming from Malachi's lab.
Celeste growls lowly with a sudden frustration as she is robbed of the chance to claim a prize from her kill, but the groaning of the hanging lamp she's suspended from prompts more immediate concerns. She swings herself out and foward right before the chain gives by luck or some feline mid-air manuvering she tumbles out of the doorway of the warehouse, eyes almost entirely silver from corner to corner as she glances about quickly, checking that there's not more prey-er...foes. Yes, that's the word. Foes. Nicodemus catches his attention and she follows at a safe stalking distance, interest likewise roused.
The smoke has cleared by this point, and Dominic rejoins his cousin and his lover with an expression halfway between awe and horror. "My goodness," he notes. "Where is Malachi?"
Nicodemus sticks his head into the rightmost laboratory door, peers at the carnage, and calls in there: "Need help?"
Celeste looks at the gore covering one arm and the Dominic's expression, misshapen pupils expanding as she considers the man. She's oddly silent as she lifts her hand absently to sniff and jerks her head back at the stench, following Nicodemus wordlessly.
Malachi shifts his grip slightly to keep a hold of the man he's kneeling on, down on the floor amidst the blood and gore and, fortunately, not much in the way of spilled alchemical potions. "Yes."
Dominic slips into the lab, and his eyes narrow and harden. "Epans," he says.
The brass man twists his head up to look at Dominic, and laughs. "Hah. I'm not surprised Lunetta sent her lickspittle after me."
Nicodemus saunters in to the building, careful not to step and slip in anything wet and slippery and body-part-like.
Celeste issues a low steely rumble, looking at the man with predatory interest, stalking a parameter around he and Malachi restlessly, alien eyes riveted on the restrained foe.
Malachi continues to hold the man down, though the look he is giving his brother and Celeste might or might not convey a polite request for restraining devices if any should be conveniently available.
Nicodemus gets a look of 'oh, you would like some help, would you?' He has very expressive eyebrows sometimes. Then he walks around and looks until he finds some nice useful cabling that would work plausibly well for restraint.
Dominic crouches down near the man's head, letting other people worry about restraints. "What did you expect? You couldn't accept the Academy's decision, and let your jealousy lead you to this. You're lucky, Epans. I'm a little surprised my cousin left you alive, but you'll live long enough to face justice for what you've done. The Archon lives, your lackeys have been dispatched, but you'll have another few days of breath. I'd be thankful for them."
Celeste makes no sign of having even noticed Malachi's predicament. She stops circling and comes to heel someplace near and to the side of Dominic. At Dominic's words she issues the softly rumble of displeasure, but that is all.
Malachi waits until cabling has been sufficiently applied, at which point he gets back to his feet.
The brass man, Epans by Dominic's naming, sneers metallically as he is hauled to his feet. "You have me, you sycophantic peacock. But there are others, still. The true Archon has brought us here to have our vengeance, and we /will/ have it. Fire and smoke and steel will rain down on the city, and this little victory will mean nothing in the face of our wrath. So you, all of you, be thankful for your breath while you still have it. Before we choke it out of you."
In the face of a megalomaniacal monologue, Nicodemus yawns.
Malachi does not hold up a rating scorecard for the monologue, because he is busy cleaning his weapons.
Celeste rolls her discolored eyes, a strange motion that is really just twin star-shaped pupils tracing a circle in their sea of mercury. In a rumbling voice with an echoing metallic quality to it, "You have no idea. You don't even understand vengeance. Enjoy the one time you got to kick sand outside your sandbox, you trivial twerp, it will be the very last time and in time, no one will even remember."
Dominic echoes the sneer, just a bit. "Bring him. He's failed in so much, once more shouldn't shock him so."
The villa has taken on the atmosphere of, if not an armed bunker, at least a well-guarded drug lord's house. Considering Dominic's skills, and certain business interests of his cousin, this may not be an unfamiliar or uncomfortable situation. Nevertheless, turtling never accomplished anything, and it's mid-morning when a courier comes to the door.
Celeste issues a sharp whistle from the roof as the courier approaches but does not halt the man. She does vulture over him balanced precariously on the edge of the villa so she might peer down, ready to pounce should he seem something other than what he seems.
You are now quiet on mnv.
The man looks legitimate, and a little nervous at Celeste. "I am here with a message for the Scholarch, from Archon Lunetta."
Nicodemus pulls himself languidly off the couch where he was reclining in a trail of Penglai green silks and golden threads to look in to this business of a courier. He remembers to grab his sword and he walks unhurridly toward the sound of voices.
Malachi looks up from the meticulous examination of a saber's edge at the whistle. He is a few paces behind his brother on the walk towards the voices.
Celeste says, "Well and good. Stay there, keep your hands as they are, and someone will be out to see you shortly. Don't look so nervous, they let me eat the last messenger, so I'm stuffed to the gills."
The courier does not look reassured. He does, though, hold up a rolled scroll of paper.
Nicodemus merely loiters. He does not take the scroll. He clearly has expectations that someone else will take on this weighty task./
Malachi examines the courier from a distance for signs of weapons, fighting ability, or nature as a distraction from something more nefarious, and waits for his cousin to come check the mail.
Dominic is late to the door, having been somewhere deeper in the villa. He looks at the courier with recognition, and is mindful enough of the loving protection of his family and loved ones to not give them a withering look for their paranoia. "Good morning," he says to the man, and takes the scroll. "The Archon is well?" When his question is answered in the affirmative, he gives a dismissive wave and returns inside.
Nicodemus steps aside in a swirl of green silks and follows Dominic within the villa. Clearly no one needs to die. Yet.
Celeste makes a few rounds on the roof before nimbly swinging down in through a window. Restless as she's been and limited in her daily workouts, she's gotten a little more rambuncous in exited and entering the building. To her credit, she's not broken anything in. She saunters towards the door as if to deny any pent up energy and wonders, "Did she write you to inform you that he has spilled his guts?"
Dominic breaks the seal on the scroll, and unrolls it - it is blank. "Hm. Looks like whatever she has to say is important."
Nicodemus glances at the blank scroll, folds his arms over his chest, and grunts.
Malachi waits patiently, about a sword's length behind his brother.
Nicodemus does not stab Malachi. Yet.
Dominic strides purposefully to a small office, looking around his desk for a moment. He finds a small vial and a feather-tipped brush, and uses the latter to spread the contents of the former across the page. A moment or two later, small and neat handwriting appears on the scroll. "Hm," Dominic muses.
Celeste stands by, shifting weight restlessly from one foot to the next as she watches and waits.
"She broke him," Dominic says. "And learned where Epans has made camp."
Nicodemus looks considerably more interested. Almost as if blank documents that can only be transmitted and read to the proper bearer would have some utility in his life.
Malachi looks distantly more interested. Almost as if he is looking forward to slaughtering the hell out of some camp.
Celeste nods once, "Which is more or less what we expected." she hrrrms, "Did she state where?"
Dominic nods, looking over the rest of the document. "Yes. He's holed up in the quarantined laboratories to the east." He doesn't look happy about this fact.
"How far is the trip?" Nicodemus asks.
"Why the quarantine?" Malachi asks.
Dominic says, "An hour or so from here - the laboratories were set outside the city as they were used for rather...experimental alchemical work. Unfortunately the waste products built up, and they're quite unsafe for prolonged exposure these days."
Celeste eyes Dominic, "I suppose if you're already riddled with road taint that might sound like a dandy place to make camp." she observes dryly, "I'm not too worried about me, but what about you and your cousins?"
Nicodemus glances at his brother and then at Celeste and then Dominic. "It sounds... interesting. Interesting is the word I would like to apply to this situation."
Dominic says, "As long as we avoid any of the larger deposits, we should be fine. Thanks to our grandfather."
Malachi says, "Convenient."
Dominic says, "Quite."
Malachi double-checks his more visible weaponry in preparation for an hour's walk followed by violence.
Celeste says, "Is this radiation or something else?"
Nicodemus also double-checks his more visible weaponry in preparation for an hour's walk followed by violence.
Dominic says, "Radiation? Oh, no. Toxic, definitely, but it's mostly a hazard over weeks of exposure. A few hours to find Epans and take care of him shouldn't be too hazardous."
Nicodemus sniffs, once.
Celeste says, "Just making sure it's nothing with sticky particles. I think well of you all but sitting in decontamination for a week is not my idea of a vacation."
Celeste says, "No offense to you fine gents."
Malachi fails to look offended.
Nicodemus says, "I am not offended."
Dominic shrugs. "Limit our exposure, and a good thorough bath when we're done, we'll be fine. Just...try not to fall into anything in a pool or vat."
Malachi says, "We'll try."
Nicodemus says, "I believe I can avoid pools and vats."
Celeste chortles, "So noted. Do we need anything particular to prepare?"
Dominic says, "He'll have minions, of course. Be prepared for violence."
Dominic says this without irony.
Nicodemus glances at Malachi to ensure Malachi is prepared for violence.
Malachi does not triple-check his weaponry, but does give Dominic a look.
Celeste says, "I'd be disappointed otherwise. And you know these two. they might be better behaved but they froth with bloodlust on the inside, I'm sure."
The hike out of the city does take a little longer, nearly two hours, as there is still fighting going on in some of the streets, and the quartet has a mission. Still, the noon sun is still high when they reach the outskirts of the city, and the quarantine zone. The laboratories are low stone buildings with thin wooden roofs, bunkers of a sort. A few men in black robes can be seen on patrol, some of them with eyes over-large for their heads, distorted and strange.
Malachi looks over the defensive setup of the buildings and the patrolling men, a storm pistol settling into one hand. He asks Dominic, "Anything in there volatile with electricity?"
Dominic says, "Almost definitely. Please don't."
Nicodemus keeps one hand on the pommel of his sword at all time as he looks at the buildings and the large-eyed men. He frowns in a way that indicates there are actually more important things than stabbing his brother that requires extreme and uncompromising violence.
Celeste looks to Malachi, "If I didn't know any better I'd swear you weren't up for a challenge." she drawls softly.
Malachi puts away the pistol. "Worth considering efficiency of approach," he says to Celeste.
Dominic slips a glass globe, filled with a black viscous liquid, from his robe. "I can give us cover to approach. Inside, it's likely to get ugly."
Nicodemus glances around one more time and then back at Dominic. "Ugly is acceptable."
Celeste says, "That things not very stealthy and I'd like to have a few bodycounts in our favor before the whole place realizes we're here." She looks to Dominic and murmurs, "Be careful, eh?"
Dominic looks around. "They're guarding three labs. Pick one now, so you don't stab each other in the confusion."
Malachi points with his saber to the lab furthest to the right.
Nicodemus points with his finger to the lab furthers to the left.
Celeste Shrugs and looks to Dominic, nodding, suggesting she will take the left overs of double trouble.
Dominic nods. He takes a second sphere in his other hand, and stands up long enough to hurl them both towards the labs. They smash on the ground with a sharp noise, and cloud of smoke billow up to fill the courtyard, raising a hue and cry but covering things nicely.
Malachi strides briskly through the smoke towards the rightmost building's front door, both swords drawn.
Nicodemus heads through the smoke toward the leftmost building's door, his katana at ready.
Celeste's long legs carry her in distance strides towards her target, blade out but held low and out to the side, one hand left free and her posture slightly ducked.
Nicodemus shoves open the door to the leftmost laboratory, interrupting the workings of two black-clad mages with their giant staring eyes. There is a tinkle of glass as a dropped flask breaks on the floor and then engagement. The two black-clad mages are fast, faster than any human being should, and they are able to do acrobatics no mage should. What breaks out in the leftmost hut is a full, stop motion, wuxia scene complete with wires barely concealed by the camera, a momentary freeze as a black clad mage stops posed in flying crane on the tip of Nicodemus's sword, the insane swirl of green silks, several flips through the air, a clang, and the speedy death of one mage. Then a slow motion face-off with the second one, leaping into the air, hanging there in time, and then breathed fire versus sword and a sword smoothly decapitating the mage. And, as usual, the mages were under 100lbs of pressure.
Malachi strides out of the smoke in front of two guards, one saber immediately burying itself in the neck of the nearest man to the width of the blade. Unexpectedly, the man does not promptly keel over, but grabs at the sword in his neck to contest possession of the blade. Malachi lets go of the saber to concentrate on fending off the attack of the second man, who's approached with inhuman rapidity and six-inch bone spikes where fingers would usually go. The bone does not break under the blows of the saber Malachi has left, fending off attacks as easily as a sword, and faster than any natural swordsman. After a moment of inconclusive lightning-fast attacks and steady parries, the matter is ended with a resounding crack when Malachi's boot hits the man's knee, shattering that bone and distracting the man enough to implant a saber in his right eye. Meanwhile, the first man is bleeding in a slow ooze from dozens of cuts--as well as that gash through half his neck--as the saber he claimed vigorously twists in his hands to contest this unauthorized use. It is only a matter of some bloody hacking further for Malachi to entirely remove the man's head from his neck, and reclaim his sword. He engages in a brief prod of the body with the toe of his boot to make sure that the corpse is not liable to continue fighting while headless before kicking down the door of the laboratory. The smoke swirls dramatically behind him, and follows him inside in a helpfully obscuring fashion, as he enters.
Celeste bursts and remains in killing momentum as her eyes track and note her foes. One foe seems to fade out of sight, the other suddenly swells to such size he almost clears the ceiling, his hide thick and leathery bubbling grotesquely in putrid pustoles. The 'diappearance' of the first doesn't stop Celeste, her blade swinging confidently and red staining where the man falls. There's a disgusted and somewhat girlish grunt as she notes her next opponent but does not hesitate, hamstrining the giant and then with a mighty slash which results in screeching of blade against resistant hide, opens a wound. The creature alchemist flails impotently as she reaches in and begins to tear out flesh, vital organs, and entrails until his life's force flows from his putrid corpse.
The guards dispatched, the three stone-cold killers can gain entrance to the laboratories themselves. Away from the smoke, the sights are a little clearer but no less gruesome. Corrupt and corroded, if the Road didn't come to Pathi through this place, it's certainly had its way since. Workbenches pitted and worn from unspeakable solvents, vats of substances that burble in unpleasant ways. Black-robed alchemists, collecting reagents from these caches of pustulent horror, in each lab. Malachi is unlucky, as his lab is supervised by a Primary Investigator of evil, a man tall and thin as Benedict, but eggshell-bald and with a skin of tarnished and pocked brass. There's no coordination between the labs, but they all have the same response - they attack.
Malachi is approached by a wave of alchemists, and lets it crash around him as harmlessly as water. He moves slowly and steadily, each adjustment of his blades a precisely measured one, and yet there is always a saber in the way of an incoming weapon, the edge of his coat caught by a blade instead of any flesh, an elbow or shoulder thrown into throats and chests as men step unwisely inside an invisible circle of influence around him. One thrown glass flask is caught so lightly along the edge of a saber that it doesn't shatter, spun about in a circle and snapping back into the face of the man who hurled it. It bursts there in a rain of nearly harmless glass and, judging by the immediate shrieking, far less harmless liquid slurming its way into the crevices of the man's face. Malachi tilts and topples the unbalanced men around him into bubbling vats and smoking pools, clearing for himself a tidy path towards the man of brass while to each side the flailing bodies of a half dozen alchemists entirely contaminate those experiments, no doubt irking greatly the one testing theories there.
Nicodemus leans forward as the next wave of minions comes at him, these with their eyes on stalks and their hands curled into hideous claws. Nicodemus is not entirely clear the point of the eyes on stalks but he is willing to go with it. He grabs a flask off a table and throws it at one, where it bursts into yellowish flame, while he comes at the second minion in sword on claws action. The lab echoes with the clanking of combat before Nicodemus finds the proper opening and skewers the thing and pushes it into a vile black bubbling vat in a corner.
Celeste's a flurry of motion, ducking, bobbing weaving, striking dead in a single blow when she can, parrying, disarming, and wounding when she can't. No thought is given to the almost supernatural flexibility or balance, reversing motions smoothly now and again and showing an utter disregard for physical laws-if only the eye is fooled into thinking so. When the press of bodies grows too thick, her body and the bodies of her foes become weapons, an elbow her, flinging one opponent on another's blade. Somehow, a vat is overturned and Celeste springs high, kicking legs up to get hang time enough to latch onto a swinging light fixture and watches the unfortunate souls as they seem to dissolve into black goo as the contents of the vat touches them.
Minions, as is their lot in life, die. They die horribly, gored or amputated or soaked in corrosive goo. Celeste and Nicodemus find themselves soon enough with nothing left to kill; Malachi is not so fortunate. The brass man engages the Captain, hands held like rigid daggers to stab and chop, heedless of the other man's blade.
Malachi hacks at the thin man's forearm, a precise and powerful blow--and the saber ricochets off just as powerfully with a dull clang, the man's brass skin not so much as scratched by the impact. The saber spirals about in a neat recovery, and slides into its sheath at the same time as the unmatched saber on the other side does the same. Without further ado, Malachi tackles the brass man bare-handed. He grapples with slippery metallic limbs, patiently dodging the blunt hand-daggers. Patience and sheer strength slowly gain him ground and grip, until he has the man pinned to the ground, dangers hands held firmly at the back. It is at this point that his lack of foresight in packing restraints becomes apparent.
Nicodemus saunters out of his laboratory covered in goo and becomes vaguely, naggingly interested in the fascinating sounds coming from Malachi's lab.
Celeste growls lowly with a sudden frustration as she is robbed of the chance to claim a prize from her kill, but the groaning of the hanging lamp she's suspended from prompts more immediate concerns. She swings herself out and foward right before the chain gives by luck or some feline mid-air manuvering she tumbles out of the doorway of the warehouse, eyes almost entirely silver from corner to corner as she glances about quickly, checking that there's not more prey-er...foes. Yes, that's the word. Foes. Nicodemus catches his attention and she follows at a safe stalking distance, interest likewise roused.
The smoke has cleared by this point, and Dominic rejoins his cousin and his lover with an expression halfway between awe and horror. "My goodness," he notes. "Where is Malachi?"
Nicodemus sticks his head into the rightmost laboratory door, peers at the carnage, and calls in there: "Need help?"
Celeste looks at the gore covering one arm and the Dominic's expression, misshapen pupils expanding as she considers the man. She's oddly silent as she lifts her hand absently to sniff and jerks her head back at the stench, following Nicodemus wordlessly.
Malachi shifts his grip slightly to keep a hold of the man he's kneeling on, down on the floor amidst the blood and gore and, fortunately, not much in the way of spilled alchemical potions. "Yes."
Dominic slips into the lab, and his eyes narrow and harden. "Epans," he says.
The brass man twists his head up to look at Dominic, and laughs. "Hah. I'm not surprised Lunetta sent her lickspittle after me."
Nicodemus saunters in to the building, careful not to step and slip in anything wet and slippery and body-part-like.
Celeste issues a low steely rumble, looking at the man with predatory interest, stalking a parameter around he and Malachi restlessly, alien eyes riveted on the restrained foe.
Malachi continues to hold the man down, though the look he is giving his brother and Celeste might or might not convey a polite request for restraining devices if any should be conveniently available.
Nicodemus gets a look of 'oh, you would like some help, would you?' He has very expressive eyebrows sometimes. Then he walks around and looks until he finds some nice useful cabling that would work plausibly well for restraint.
Dominic crouches down near the man's head, letting other people worry about restraints. "What did you expect? You couldn't accept the Academy's decision, and let your jealousy lead you to this. You're lucky, Epans. I'm a little surprised my cousin left you alive, but you'll live long enough to face justice for what you've done. The Archon lives, your lackeys have been dispatched, but you'll have another few days of breath. I'd be thankful for them."
Celeste makes no sign of having even noticed Malachi's predicament. She stops circling and comes to heel someplace near and to the side of Dominic. At Dominic's words she issues the softly rumble of displeasure, but that is all.
Malachi waits until cabling has been sufficiently applied, at which point he gets back to his feet.
The brass man, Epans by Dominic's naming, sneers metallically as he is hauled to his feet. "You have me, you sycophantic peacock. But there are others, still. The true Archon has brought us here to have our vengeance, and we /will/ have it. Fire and smoke and steel will rain down on the city, and this little victory will mean nothing in the face of our wrath. So you, all of you, be thankful for your breath while you still have it. Before we choke it out of you."
In the face of a megalomaniacal monologue, Nicodemus yawns.
Malachi does not hold up a rating scorecard for the monologue, because he is busy cleaning his weapons.
Celeste rolls her discolored eyes, a strange motion that is really just twin star-shaped pupils tracing a circle in their sea of mercury. In a rumbling voice with an echoing metallic quality to it, "You have no idea. You don't even understand vengeance. Enjoy the one time you got to kick sand outside your sandbox, you trivial twerp, it will be the very last time and in time, no one will even remember."
Dominic echoes the sneer, just a bit. "Bring him. He's failed in so much, once more shouldn't shock him so."